5 Summers
by WildRedPoppies
Summary: They are the children of feuding families, separated by generations of bad blood and a river between them. One day, he decides to cross the water to find out what's on the other side. Alternate "A River Between" storyline, prior reading of ARB not nec. Drabble-ish.
1. Chapter 1

Many thanks to **katmom** for betaing and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

First version written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

**Warning for sexual content and gratuitous Jane Austen references.  
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><p><strong>Hi! If you've read ARB, this story is the "Alternate Reality" version of what would have happened if Edward had stopped and spoken to Bella when he saw her sleeping by the river when she was 17 (Edward mentioned watching her sleep in Chap 8 of ARB). If you haven't read ARB, prior reading is not necessary but Chap 1 &amp; 2 of ARB will give you more background :)<br>**

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><p><em><strong>Summer, 2005, England<strong>_

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. My dear Isabella, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Isabella gasped at Mr. Darcy's words (but not without noting that he bore a striking resemblance to Colin Firth, save for his superior hair). Feeling herself overcome with gratitude and joy, she looked down blushingly, and was pleased to observe that her new muslin dress was setting off her modest bosom to its best advantage in this most important moment. Mr. Darcy was about to offer his hand, she was sure of it.

They were walking in the grounds of Pemberley, and Isabella could spy the handsome facade of Pemberley House in the distance just over Mr. Darcy's shoulder. "Of this, I shall soon be mistress!" she thought to herself.

Mr. Darcy gazed upon Isabella with the ardour of a man violently in love and was about to speak when he was interrupted by a loud splash. And then another. And another.

"Good afternoon! I hope I didn't wake you."

Bella opened her eyes slowly. Large shoes. A long stretch of legs. Broad shoulders blocking the sun. A smile entirely too wide for someone who was about to be smited with fire, flies and frogs for interrupting the best dream she'd ever had.

She recognised the boy as Edward Cullen, of _the_ Cullens. She blinked at his smile, now faltering under her stare. What was he doing on _her_ side of the river? She noticed a boat tied to the bank. He had done the unthinkable – he had crossed the river.

"You are trespassing on private property."

"So I did wake you. I apologise. May I?" The trespasser gestured towards a corner of her blanket and sat down before she could protest his audacity. No one had ever brushed off her glare as easily as he just did. Bella had been known to reduce unwanted suitors to tears with just one look before they even had to endure the lashings of her barbed tongue. Was she losing her touch? No, she was just caught by surprise. She gathered herself and got ready to stare him down properly.

The intruder remained unperturbed. He arranged his long limbs about him as he cast a glance at the spine of her book.

"Ah, _Pride and Prejudice_. I've always thought that Elizabeth Bennet fell in love with Pemberley first, then Mr. Darcy by extension. Very practical. Real estate is often easier to improve than a man, don't you think?"

Bella gasped. This was blasphemy of the blackest form. The indignation that only a 17 year-old Austenite can muster welled up in her and she launched into an earnest argument detailing exactly why he, a skimmer and a cynic, was wrong. To her surprise, he relaxed further into his position on the blanket and listened with a smile before answering each of her points thoughtfully.

That was the first afternoon Edward Cullen sat under her tree by the river.


	2. Chapter 2

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

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><p>Despite their four-year age difference, Bella soon discovered how easy it was to talk to Edward Cullen. Too easy, in fact.<p>

"Edward?"

"Yes, Bella?"

"Don't you think fairy tales glamorise disorders and conditions that are normally deemed unacceptable in society? I mean, the Grimms brothers could probably fill a Psychology textbook."

"Can't say that's ever crossed my mind. I just liked the swords and the dragons. Bonus if there's a princess that requires rescuing."

"Oh ye heedless child. Name me a fairy tale, any one."

"_Cinderella_."

"Easy. Foot fetish, podophilia. If Cinderella's Prince were alive today, he would be the inexplicably posh shoe salesman in a high-end shoe shop. You know, the educated one with the cut glass accent? He should be in a bank but he prefers to spend his day on his knees peeling Italian leather off soft, arched feet."

Edward quirked a brow. "I'll remember to keep an eye out for him the next time I go shopping for my brogues. I want to try, give me a fairy tale."

"_Beauty and the Beast_."

"Beast is clearly manifesting symptoms of Multiple-Personality Disorder. Beauty? Classic Stockholm Syndrome. Your turn. _The Little Mermaid_."

"The Little Mermaid." Bella shook her head sadly. "She turned her back on her own kind and sacrificed her voice and her identity to join another culture. Have you seen the Disney version? That song 'Part of Your World'? _Racial Inferiority Complex_. I've got a good one – _Snow White_."

"Ah, Snow White's Prince is the worst of the lot. Kissing a dead woman? Necrophiliac!"

"And parents let their children read these books. Disgusting."

"I agree. This is why our society is broken. What would you let your children read?"

"Well, we do live in the countryside, so it'd have to be _Farmers' Almanac_ and _Country __Journal_. No necrophiliacs there. Wholesome and educational."

"I think you'll make an excellent parent one day."

"Likewise."

For the briefest moment, Bella allowed herself to picture what the man sitting next to her, with his broad shoulders and kind eyes, would look like with a small child in his arms.

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><p>AN:

Thank you for your reviews. For the people who asked, I'm still writing ARB :)


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

**Very short chapter.**

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><p>"Look, I'm merely pointing out that eroticism, whether in film or literature, relies heavily on anticipation and delayed gratification. It's not about the amount of skin shown or the depravity of the act. With the right build-up, even say, a bare ankle, can be very sexy."<p>

"Sexy ankles, eh?" She cheekily stuck her bare foot in his face and wiggled her toes at him.

"Hmmm." He wrinkled his nose at the unwanted appendage. "Maybe not the chubby ones."

Like most men foolish enough to even hint that a woman's figure is less than absolute perfection, Edward regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still fuming. She lay on her stomach, facing away from him so that he would not see that she had been glaring at the same page since he last spoke. Her ankles, however, were crossed and held defiantly in the air.

"Bella, I'm sorry." He shifted closer. "I'm so, so sorry. Are you still angry at me?"

"I am not angry. I am a modern, enlightened woman who does not build my sense of worth on my appearance. Therefore, your comment about the size of my ankles, insensitive though it might have been, did not hurt me one bit."

"Your feet are practically quivering with rage."

"Are you sure it's my feet and not the _fat_ on my ankles trembling in the breeze?"

"I'm sorry. I was joking." He leant down to look her in the eye. "Your ankles are _exquisite_. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." With that, he reached over and with perfect solemnity, planted a reverent kiss on each wronged ankle.

Bella was quiet after that but her feet stopped shaking so he assumed that all was well. He did not see the hot blush that bloomed on her cheeks, nor feel the jolt of electricity that shot through her body. Edward Cullen could not have known that this was the first time Bella Swan let a boy kiss her anywhere.


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

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><p>Bella waited for the rower under her tree, as she did every afternoon. She couldn't see his face, just the rhythmic unfurling of his body, his shirt alternately stretching and relaxing across his back, as he guided the boat closer to her with every stroke.<p>

She had never met anyone like Edward. He didn't patronise her, like the adults. He wasn't afraid of her either, like most boys her age. He surprised her constantly. He was intelligent and well-read. He had a mischievous streak, which she wouldn't have guessed from his mild demeanour. And he was _kind_.

Did he have a girlfriend? She made discreet enquiries in the village and was horrified to hear stories of eligible, well-connected young beauties at Oxford.

She wanted desperately to be older, more sophisticated. To be just..._more_. She heaved a sigh and flopped back onto her blanket.

"What ails you, milady?" He made himself comfortable on the blanket next to her, elbow propped, brows raised. "Pining for your _boy_friend?"

_Riley! _Bella realised with a guilty start that she hadn't thought about her boyfriend in a while. It was a new relationship and they hadn't done more than hold hands. She wished he would stop writing her poetry, especially now that he was going through a William Blake phase. Riley could be so...so _earnest_.

"Hmm...Schiele," Edward murmured absently. He was holding a handful of Bella's curls in his palm.

"What?"

"Egon Schiele. Austrian Expressionist painter. Died 1918 of Spanish Influenza."

"Yes," she said impatiently. "But what does the Spanish Influenza have to do with my hair?" She was still smarting over the comment he made about her ankles.

"It reminded me of a Schiele painting I saw in the Belvedere in Vienna." He shifted uneasily and let go of her hair. "It's nothing."

Bella went home that day and immediately looked up the painting. It wasn't the bold eroticism of the naked couple locked in a passionate embrace that shocked her; it was the fact that the man had a head of messy bronze locks. She found a postcard of the painting and used it as her favourite bookmark. For an entire year afterwards, it was her only assurance that Edward Cullen might not be as indifferent to her as he appeared.

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><p>AN:

Egon Schiele did die of Spanish Influenza in 1918, just like Edward Cullen (ETA: As a sharp-eyed reader pointed out, Edward _Masen_ died. Edward _Cullen_ is immortal ;) )

The painting mentioned is The Embrace (Lovers II). The internet pictures tend to be muddy but the man in the painting does indeed have messy red-brown hair.


	5. Chapter 5

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

**Short chapter, long A/N**.

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><p>"Well, I suppose this is goodbye."<p>

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Well, you'll go back to school and see your boyfriend again. That's something to be cheerful about, isn't it? What's the name of your French-speaking, piano-playing boyfriend again? Rrr...Rodney?"

"Riley. And you'll have your Oxford Harem again."

"I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about."

"Oh, I hear things in the village. There's a weekly update on your girlfriends during term time. It's not a bad thing, you know. Keeps the village morale up to know that one of Forks' sons is sowing his oats far and wide across England and beyond."

"Look, as the sole heir to the Cullen estate, it's my responsibility to find the best candidate for the all-important role of Mrs Cullen. It's not all fun and games, Bella, it's a job interview with dinner and wine and I'm _exhausted_." He placed the back of his hand delicately on his temple. "But I carry on for the greater good."

"Oh, hush you." She swatted at him, perhaps a little harder than necessary. "So, next summer."

"Next summer."

She was turning to leave when he called her name.

"Bella?" His eyes were serious. "There is no harem. I have many friends who happen to be women. I may have dated here and there. But no harem."

Bella went back to school and broke up with Riley. The sensitive French-speaking, piano-playing youth was devastated by her callousness and promptly wrote her a long, bitter poem in the style of John Donne. A fine, stout love would have been nourished by poetry, but their slight, teenage romantic inclination was starved away by seven stanzas. The young former lovers went their separate ways and survived their first breakup with nothing more than a faint stench of bad poetry.

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><p><strong>AN – An Anecdote Only Very Slightly Relevant to the Story**:

In school, I had a little crush on a boy a year above me. He was intelligent, spoke French, played the piano, and had a wonderfully dry sense of humour. There was some mildly flirtatious banter that led nowhere. He graduated and moved to the US to study in an Ivy League college. We kept in touch and met up over the summer holidays.

One summer, he invited me to dinner at an intimate little Italian restaurant. I was casually seeing other people then but got a little excited anyway.

He spent the entire evening on the phone, arguing over long-distance, in rapid-fire French, with his French boyfriend.

My gaydar has improved tremendously since.

Now give me some sympathy reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

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><p><em><strong>Summer, 2006<strong>_

"You look so grown up. And your hair's longer." He picked up a lock of her hair but was careful not to touch her skin. She did not tell him that she wanted to grow her hair until it was as long as the woman's in the Schiele painting.

"And you look..._older_. And fatter." She pinched his arm jokingly. He did look older but calling him fat was a lie. His arm was lean and hard under her fingers. He also had more stubble than before. She wondered what it would feel like on her skin. She had promised herself she would find out this summer.

Over the next few weeks, their easy camaraderie was replaced with a cloying tension. Bella wore the shortest skirts she could find and shivered in the cool English summer. She found the most erotic passages from classic literature to discuss with him. She touched him at every opportunity. Edward kept his eyes resolutely on his book, dissected the passages with academic precision and remained on his blanket which he stationed exactly a foot apart from hers. She was beginning to despair of ever succeeding when she accidentally discovered his Achilles' heel.

"I met this boy. He wants to take me to the fair tomorrow. You might know him. He's from Forks and went to Oxford, too."

Edward stiffened. "What's his name?"

"Garrett."

She had never seen his eyes so cold.

"First of all, he is not a boy. He is five years older than you. Secondly, Garrett is not to be trusted. Please, Bella, stay away from him."

She was delighted. "He seems a perfect gentleman to me. Who knows? He might even give me my first kiss."

"_First kiss_?" Edward looked stricken. "Bella, please, at least find a boy _your own age_...Bella, where are you going?"

She gathered her things hastily and ran home before he could see the angry tears in her eyes. The boy she really wanted to kiss was not someone her own age. He was four years older and didn't want her back.

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><p><strong>There should be another update today, thanks for reading! <strong>

**p.s. Am working on "A River Between" but E & B refuse to tell me what they're doing ****in the library :( **


	7. Chapter 7

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

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><p>Bella was listless at the fair. She had thought Garrett rather amusing when she first met him. Now, she realised that his chatter, while entertaining, lacked substance. He was charming to everyone, but he spoke more than he listened. She was with one man, but longed for another.<p>

They were passing a large, elaborate tent set up by a fortune-teller. Bella would have walked right past it if the gypsy-costumed woman had not approached her.

"Wait, my child...your aura is very strong...I see running water...a river perhaps? A tree by the river. A tall man waiting for you. Come inside with me and I'll tell you more."

Bella was intrigued, Garrett less so.

"It's a scam, Bella. She's not even a real gypsy! Listen to that accent! Where are you from, Croydon?"

"For you, my dear, no charge." The woman seemed eager to tell her fortune.

"It's all right, Garrett, you go ahead. I'll find you when I'm done."

She followed the woman into the tent. Excited at first, she grew uneasy as she was led deep inside and told to wait in a small, dark section. She began to wonder whether Garrett was right after all.

A figure surprised her from behind a curtain and covered her mouth before she could scream.

"Shhhhh, it's me."

"Edward! What the hell are you doing here?" She wanted to sound angry but his proximity was making her dizzy.

"Please, Bella, not Garrett. Anyone but Garrett. Don't kiss him."

"All right then. Mike, I've seen the way he looks at me. He'd kiss me."

"Mike. Mike Newton? I've seen the way he looks at you, too. He'll want to do a lot more than kiss you, trust me."

"Tyler Crowley."

"Picks his nose when he thinks no one's looking."

"Eric Yorkie."

"Ermm..."

"Ha! You can't find anything wrong with Eric!"

"Too short!"

"I'm short."

"Exactly, think of your children. They'll be midgets. Is that really the sort of genes you want to pass on to the next generation?"

Of course, Bella hadn't anticipated this problem. The only man she really wanted was tall.

"I'm too young to think about having children."

She knew the moment the words came out of her mouth she had said something wrong. Edward who had been leaning closer and closer, suddenly jerked back.

It was cruel, but she said the thing she knew would get his attention. "Garrett's tall."

"No!" He gripped her forearms and swallowed. "No Garrett. What...what about me? If you're prepared to kiss Mike or Eric, I'm no worse a candidate. Promise me, if I give you your first kiss, you'll stop seeing Garrett."

She nodded mutely.

"Just one kiss," he murmured, placing one warm hand on her cheek.

Bella's first kiss was sweet and chaste, the barest press of lips on lips. But it was quickly followed by many others. Each time he pulled back reluctantly, he dipped his head down to kiss her again, as if saying to himself, _this next one will be the last._ _Just one more_.

When she could take the teasing no more, she wound her arms around his neck and held on so he couldn't pull away. She wore him down with the soft, shy brushes of her lips until he finally caved. He crushed her up against him so that she was barely teetering on her tiptoes. And then he kissed her. Properly, thoroughly kissed her.

The tall man and his much shorter brunette clung to each other until the fortune-teller's loud cough finally forced them apart.


	8. Chapter 8

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

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><p>"Do you remember when we first met?"<p>

She was tucked into his side on the blanket, head on his shoulder, fingers tracing the speckles the leaf-filtered light made on his chest.

"You mean when you woke me up from the dream where I almost became Mrs Darcy?" She looked up into his face, laughing.

Her breath caught. Edward, when he was on his best behaviour and keeping his distance from her, was quietly handsome. _This_ Edward—hair mussed, eyes shining, beaming at her like she was Christmas morning—made her heart stop.

"No, silly. It was much earlier than that. I was nine, you were five. You fell into the river and I fished you out. You were a such sorry sight, with your droopy bows and muddy dress, like a wet kitten."

"Oh!" A faint memory flickered in her mind as she remembered the little boy with serious eyes. She pulled herself on top of him. "My knight, my hero." She nuzzled his jaw. "Aren't you glad you saved me?"

"Very glad." He rolled her onto her back. "So very," he brushed her eyelids with his lips. "Very," he kissed the tip of her nose. "Glad." He lowered his mouth to hers so slowly she thought she would faint from holding her breath.

The summer yawned before them, the air thick and treacle-sweet; so many languid afternoons spent folded in his long limbs, kissing and kissing until her lips throbbed, her head swam, and her limbs felt heavy and drunk.

Later, she would remember that one afternoon, when she wore that little sundress with the tiny straps he could never resist.

She would recall, with perfect clarity, how that dress ended up dragged down to her waist, how her briefs were bunched around one ankle. Years later, she would still feel the rough tree bark scratching her naked back, the firmness of his shoulder under the back of her knee. She would remember feeling so shy because she was up _here_, and he was down _there_, and how everything, absolutely everything flew out of her head because his tongue...god _his tongue_ made her shake and shake.

She wanted to give him everything, but he wouldn't take it.

In the end, it didn't matter; she lost herself anyway.

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><p>AN:

Apologies for the long hiatus. Thank you for staying with me. I'm restarting this as a warm-up to posting ARB.

Reference to their meeting as children in Chapter 1 of ARB.


	9. Chapter 9

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

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><p>"Come, I want to show you something."<p>

He held out his hand to her as he spoke and she took it wordlessly. She did not ask where they were going. As long as he was holding her hand, she would have gone anywhere.

On the shoulder of a hill on the Cullen estate, he pointed out the small, bright shards of pottery half-buried in the soil, broken relics of another time she would easily have missed herself.

"Are those..."

"Roman. There's a Roman road not too far from here. There have been reports of other finds in the area. Nothing of great archaeological importance, just bits of ceramic here and there. There's something else, look at this."

Bella got onto her knees for a closer look and barked out a laugh. There, on the largest piece, a long-dead vandal had painstakingly carved out:

_E.C. 1879_

"So here we are, in the twenty-first century, admiring Victorian graffiti on Roman pottery?" Bella mused.

"That just about sums it up."

"Any idea who our graffiti artist E.C. might be?"

"Well, there was another Edward Cullen who was a teenager at the time. He died young, so we don't know much about him." Edward straightened, casting his eyes across the expansive view. From their vantage point, both the Cullen and Swan mansions were visible.

His voice was low, thoughtful.

"You know, people come and go. We may leave fragments of ourselves behind," he gestured towards the shards, "but this land, _this_ land remains."

She soaked in his profile. Strong brows. That striking jaw, thick with stubble. One foot propped on a rock. Hands, the hands that held and knew her, hands that she had come to love, shoved in his pockets. His stance was relaxed but assured, the stance of someone who had claimed his place in the world. All of a sudden, the beautiful boy she thought she knew seemed so much older than 22.

The words spilled from her mouth.

"You love this place, don't you? I mean...really, really love it."

She watched the smile light up his whole face, his whole being.

"It's in my blood. I'll take over from my father, and if I'm lucky, I'll pass it on to my children."

Another smile, this time tinged with apprehension.

"I start work at the estate after summer."

He turned to face her fully.

"What about you, Bella? What will you do after you graduate?"

"I...I don't know," Bella confessed. She hadn't thought that far ahead. Going to university was by far the greatest thing on her horizon. It eclipsed everything else and she could not see beyond it.

"My world is so...so _small_. I've seen nothing, done nothing. I've only ever known Forks and school.

"But one thing I do know," she brightened, "is that I want to see the world. Asia, America, Africa...see how other people live. Find out for myself that there are infinite possibilities out there."

Bella was too busy thinking about distant lands to see the change in Edward's eyes. He started reaching for her hand, but stopped himself, letting it fall back to his side.

The earth had shifted beneath her feet, but Bella could not feel its tremors.

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><p>AN:

Roman pottery shard detail inspired by some memoirs about old English country houses I was reading.


	10. Chapter 10

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

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><p>"Let's go somewhere."<p>

The summer was drawing to a close. Edward had insisted on driving them to a town 2 hours away so that there was less chance of them being spotted together. The afternoon was bittersweet—it was the first time they had held hands in public. Neither had brought up what would happen when the summer ended. She was going to university while he was starting work at the estate.

When it started drizzling, he pulled her into an old-fashioned photo booth on a deserted street.

"Here, I'll sit on the stool. You sit on my lap." Once they were in position, he took his raincoat, turned it back to front and slipped her arms through the sleeves. The coat engulfed her small frame and covered the front of her body completely.

"Here are some coins. Now, read the instructions and operate the camera."

"Edward, I don't understand. Why am I operating the camera? I'm hopeless at these things."

He leaned into her ear and whispered, "Because I'll be _busy_."

She tried her best to read the instructions when he was kissing her neck.

It was near impossible to slot in the coins when his thumbs were circling her nipples over and over.

She had barely managed to push the button when his hand slipped under her skirt, and then under again.

She blinked unseeingly ahead of her as the bulb flashed, and flashed.

In all, they took three sets of photos.

In most of the frames, she was looking straight at the camera, eyes glazed, lips parted.

In some, they were kissing desperately.

In others, he was gazing at her, so much longing, as if she was far away and not right there on his lap.

In the very last, his face was buried in her neck, and her eyes were tightly shut. That was the moment Edward Cullen made her shatter into a thousand pieces.

He would later do the same to her heart.


	11. Chapter 11

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

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><p>"You don't want me." Bella couldn't believe what she was hearing. He was breaking up with her.<p>

He was early today. She had seen him from afar, sitting under the tree hugging his knees, eyes fixed on the river, still as a statue. Suddenly, his body uncoiled and with a violent jerk of his arm, he sent a stone flying to the opposite bank, where it ricocheted and landed in the river with a noisy, messy splash, scattering ducks and ripples in all directions.

His chest had stopped heaving by the time she arrived under the tree and the face that greeted her was composed and placid as ever.

"Bella, be reasonable. You'll be in school. I'll be here working. We'll both be busy. We'll hardly see each other. Long-distance relationships don't work."

"Is that why you wouldn't sleep with me, why you wouldn't _fuck_ me? Because you don't want the responsibility of being the first? So that I'll be easier to ditch when the time comes? Have you planned this from the beginning?"

"Look, you'll meet loads of new people in your university, boys your age. You'll have so many new experiences. You'll travel during your long breaks. Soon, you wouldn't even remember who Edward Cullen is."

"Stop it! Don't you _dare_ make this about me. Man up and tell the truth. You don't want a teenage girlfriend who wouldn't be around. You. Don't. Want. Me."

"Bella, you..." He took a deep breath. "You're right. We'll call it what it is—a summer fling. I don't want this. Not anymore."

She flinched at his words, even though she had demanded them. She bent down and began gathering her things slowly, methodically. When she was sure she had everything, she turned and walked home without looking back.

::::::::::::::::::::

Her parents threw her a lavish going-away party and invited everyone but their rivals, the Cullens. For the first time, she allowed her mother to put her in a tight dress, pile make-up on her face and arrange her hair. When she looked into the mirror, she didn't recognize herself—she looked like a grotesque parody of her mother.

She went through the motions, greeted guests, accepted their congratulations; had the same conversations about school over and over. When she couldn't take any more, she excused herself and retreated to the calm of her room. The party would go on without her.

Once in her room, she left the lights off, preferring to sit in front of the window and let the moonlight bathe her. She held the photo strips with Edward in her fists and thought about how she would destroy them.

"You don't look like yourself." She could just make out his silhouette in the corner of her room. The familiarity of him made her chest hurt. She turned back to the window.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was calm, much calmer than she felt.

"I need to tell you something."

"You've said everything you needed to say. Please leave." She didn't want him to see her cry.

"I lied." He was standing in the moonlight in front of her. Why was he holding her hands? Why couldn't she pull away?

"I lied about not wanting you. Of course I want you. I want everything with you. I want to sit by the river with you everyday and talk about nothing. I want to hold your hand in public and tell everyone you're mine. I want to be your plus-one at weddings. I want to come home to you everyday, have dinner with you everyday. I want to meet your parents. They'd absolutely loathe me, but if that's what it takes to be with you, then I want it.

"I want you, but I can't have you. Because you are 18 and about to start the best years of your life. You'll meet new people, learn new things, have new experiences that will change you forever. You are always telling me about the places you want to see. Well, this is your chance.

"You can't do all these things if you have a boyfriend waiting for you in Forks. I'm here. My life is here. If we stay together, I'd only hold you back. I know you—you're stubborn. You'll try to make it work. You'll come home every weekend. You'll stay in Forks during your breaks instead of travelling like you wanted. Maybe we'd break up anyway and you'd look back at all the missed opportunities and resent me. Maybe we'd stay together, but I'd have lost you anyway because you never became the person you were supposed to become.

"So believe me when I say I want you. And I only want the very best for you."

She let him wipe the make-up and the tears off her face.

She let him loosen her up-do so that her hair fell about her shoulders the way he loved.

She let him slip the dress off her body so he could touch her for the last time.

She let him make love to her. It was painful at first, but she wanted it because it matched the pain in her chest.

As she lay under him in her childhood bed, arms tight, heart so full, her ears ringing with his ragged breath that pierced like sobs, she thought to herself, _If I hold on, if I hold on and don't let go, he'll have to stay_. Then, she realised _she_ was the one leaving him behind.

In the morning, he woke her with a kiss before quietly slipping out the window. On her dresser, she found a postcard, one of the very few ever made of Forks. The back read:

_I will always want you. _

_Go places, do things, make friends. _

_Then send me a postcard from wherever you are. _


	12. Chapter 12

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

* * *

><p>From: Isabella Swan<p>

To: Edward Cullen

Date: Oct 15, 2006

Subject: Letter

Dear Edward,

I am writing you this email in the hope that this will reach you before my letter.

This was what happened. My classmate Zafrina and I got drunk last night. Under the influence of cheap white wine, I told her all about you. Unfortunately, Zafrina (normally a very sensible person) was also under the influence of the same cheap white wine and convinced me that it would be a good idea to write you a letter.

I strongly urge you, for the sake of our friendship (if that is what we have), to destroy the letter upon receipt without opening it.

If you do decide to open it, I should warn you that it contains an amateur drawing of a pornographic nature. A drawing of a pornographic nature by me, starring you. I wouldn't have confessed that so readily if I didn't remember drawing a crooked arrow pointing to the figure and scrawling "Edward" at the end of it. Certain anatomical attributes may have been inaccurately represented, on account of my limited skills and impaired motor functions. And I promise you, I wasn't trying to make fun of your hair.

I know that the private P.O. box address you left me is for the postcards I'm supposed to send you from exotic places and I'm very sorry I've abused it this way.

Please say you forgive me and that we are still friends.

Yours, contritely and stone-cold sober,

Bella


	13. Chapter 13

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Postcard from Edinburgh, Scotland. <strong>

Jan 1, 2007

Dear Edward,

Happy New Year!

I am writing to you fresh from the infamous Hogmanay New Year's Eve street party in Edinburgh. We waited on Princes St. in the freezing cold for 5 hours for the countdown, getting steadily drunker because there was nothing else to do. Zaf and I had to jog on the spot to stay warm. Somehow, jogging became dancing, and dancing became an impromptu street ceilidh. At a proper ceilidh dance, you'd have: a live band, a ballroom full of Scottish people who knew what they were doing, and a dance caller to provide instructions. We had: music from someone's phone, a cluster of drunk tourists on a freezing street, and an even drunker Glaswegian who kept shouting, "Nooo! Yer eejits! I said turn LEFT! Nooo! The OTHER left!"

Before we knew it, the new year was upon us and fireworks started over Edinburgh Castle. It was _spectacular_. At one point, it looked like the whole sky was crowded with falling stars, but they vanished before I could make a wish. Afterwards, the goodwill on the streets was palpable. I have never kissed so many strangers in my life (on the cheek, that is).

It's a new year, and I feel brave enough to say this—I miss you.

Bella

* * *

><p><strong>Postcard from Provence, France. <strong>

June 15, 2007

Dear Edward,

Can you smell a colour?

School's finally over for the year and I'm happily installed in a beautiful stone villa in the French countryside, courtesy of somebody's somebody's aunt. I woke up this morning to a glorious field of lavender outside my bedroom window. That shade of blue has been filed away in my head, to be retrieved when I'm grey and bitter, so that I may remember that at one point, I was young, I had a field of lavender outside my window, and life was good.

Tomorrow, we will explore the towns and the vineyards but this morning, the absolute first order of business was to cycle down to the village bakery to procure a local specialty—a most delightful cake with a burnt sugar crust. It is as if a Crème brûlée and a sponge cake had a torrid affair and produced this delicious bastard love child of a dessert. And I have just the right Muscat to go with it.

Expect more rambling postcards from me. This is the first summer I'm spending away from Forks and I miss...everything. I know you're busy but send some words my way to keep from getting homesick?

Bella

p.s. Village gossip tells me you have a rather attractive house guest this summer. Who's Tanya?

* * *

><p>AN:

eejits = idiots


	14. Chapter 14

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

* * *

><p><strong>Christmas, 2007<strong>

A typical Christmas in the Swan household was spent in a European ski chalet or with Renee's cousins. So when Bella's parents told her that they had decided to stay in Forks this year, they were surprised by her good-humoured acquiescence.

They attributed her buoyant spirits to the holiday season and to coming home after frequent travels and a gruelling school term.

They did not notice the rapid deflation of Bella's Yuletide cheer the moment the Swans stepped into church for the Christmas Mass, nor their daughter's frequent glances in the direction of the Cullen pew.

In particular, towards two blonde heads, expensively-coiffed in a manner foreign to a windy country village.

_Tanya Denali and her mother Kate_.

Edward had replied to her question about Tanya months before. He had explained, without fuss, that he knew Tanya from Oxford, and that their mothers were old school friends. The sainted Esme Cullen, known for her kindness and hospitality, had apparently offered the newly(and bitterly)-divorced Kate a refuge in the countryside and extended the invitation to her daughter as well. His reply had been brief and to the point. Try as she might, Bella could find no clue as to his feelings for the mysterious Tanya.

And here she was, back again in Forks, for _Christmas_!

After the service, the congregation mingled, mince pies and mulled wine in hand. Bella hovered near her parents, sneaking furtive glances at Edward whenever she could.

He looked thin, a little worn. His father had been working him hard but he liked being useful, he had told her in his email. Tanya, lovely, willowy Tanya, who had set village tongues a wagging when she stayed in summer, stood next to him, close, but not touching. _His_ face was friendly and pleasant, and inscrutable as ever.

She couldn't tell. She really couldn't tell.

She should never have come. She should have stayed at home instead of tormenting herself like this. They couldn't have spoken anyway. They were both surrounded by family. The Cullens and the Swans did not acknowledge each other, not even on Christmas. She had received not a single glance from Edward today.

He waved enthusiastically at someone far behind her and started making his way down the crowded aisle.

She'd had enough. She would leave before she made a fool of herself.

Bella looked around her. She was hemmed in from all sides in the cramped chapel. The only way out was down the main aisle towards Edward.

She felt the warning sting of tears. Would the humiliation never end? Head down, she began pushing through the throng.

Her progress was halted by one hand on her waist. A familiar spot.

Hot breath on her ear, on the back of her neck.

"_Merry Christmas, Bella_."

Something small was being pressed into her palm. A warm hand closed around hers, urging her to take the gift.

Then, he was gone.

The whole encounter had passed in a matter of seconds. Bella could not be sure she hadn't imagined it until she felt the crinkle of paper in her hand.

She hurried out of the church into the cold, turning the corner into the graveyard before ripping open the package.

Hanging from a fragile necklace, was the tiniest compass she had ever seen. No note accompanied the gift.

What could it mean? Was it a sentimental trinket for an old sweetheart? A thoughtful keepsake for an itinerant friend?

Bella slumped against a tombstone, plumes of white blooming from her mouth on every exhale. She had run out of the church without her coat. She should be freezing, but she wasn't.

She closed her eyes. His voice was still in her ear, his hand still encased hers.

It was enough. For now, it would have to be enough.


	15. Chapter 15

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

* * *

><p><em>[Excerpts of postcards from Bella to Edward in 2008]<em>

**Florence, Italy**

Italy tests one's mettle.

Allow me to explain: imagine you are a pale English girl, bred to withstand the cold, drizzle and soggy sandwiches. You arrive in Tuscany for a two-week trip. At first, you are charmed by everything. Then it starts to wear on you. The sun is too hot, the colours too bright. You are a sweaty, sunburnt mess with matted hair while the local women swan about in their designer sunglasses, bronzed skin and immaculate clothes that never seem to wrinkle.

After a day of sightseeing in yet another lovely medieval town, you find yourself in that abyss of hopeless despair between lunch and dinner, an affliction for which a strong cup of milky tea, a biscuit and a sit-down is the only known cure. But there is no tea to be had. You order the next best thing—a frothy capuccino, only to be met with derision by your Italian companions. You see, Italians do not drink coffee with milk after breakfast. Not wanting to appear the graceless foreigner, you order an espresso which you drink standing at the bar, like the locals. It somehow doesn't quite hit the spot, but you soldier on and suffer in silence while dreaming of England, oh sweet Albion's shores where the tea flows like water...is your heart bleeding for me yet?

I suppose this is where I do the obligatory and tell you that I went to the Uffizzi Gallery today. It was wonderful. I had gelato afterwards. That was wonderful too. The Italians really do have it all—art, architecture, music and most importantly, gelato. Tea-deficiency aside, I would love to live here, but I can't speak Italian. I can gesticulate with great animation though. Do you think that's enough to get by?

**Prague, Czech**

...I learnt a new word today—"Defenestration". It is "the act of throwing someone or something out of a window." It appears to be a favoured means of political assassination in Prague's history. Curious since it requires a tall building, a rather lot of effort and is by no means a guaranteed way of offing one's enemies. In one instance, 3 victims were thrown out of a 3rd floor window and survived because they landed on a large pile of manure. True story.

Poison is so much handier.

p.s. Are you hosting any guests this summer?

**Barcelona, Spain**

This city pulsates at night.

In Spain, the days seem to stretch longer. The traditional long lunch break and siesta pushes the workday back, so that everything finishes later. At 9pm, the restaurants are just opening for business and the city gets a second rush of life.

The food is ridiculously good. For the price of an indifferent meal in a chain restaurant in London, in Barcelona, you could get an exquisite 7-course tasting menu prepared by a passionate young chef trained at the best establishments in the world. My tastebuds are still reeling from the experience.

After dinner, we met up with Zaf's Spanish friend who brought us to a crowded party on a rooftop terrace. I drank, laughed, and said many a silly thing with great conviction, to people whose names I can no longer recall. We drank and drank and got drunk on life.

I remember feeling just so tired all of a sudden, then somebody pulled out a guitar and somebody else started passing round a joint.

I got high, Edward. I got high and kissed a boy. I kissed him because I was lonely and he reminded me of the person I can't have. It meant nothing.

Write to me. Tell me about Forks. Tell me if that meadow behind the old mill is blooming with daisies, like it does every summer. Tell me if old Mrs Allen still insists on pushing her creaky tartan trolley to the village shops everyday, if she still snaps at anyone who tries to help. Tell me about your work. Keep me grounded to earth. To Forks.

* * *

><p>From: Isabella Swan<p>

To: Edward Cullen

Date: Sep 19, 2008

Subject: Amsterdam

Dear Edward,

I am so glad your business trip took you to Amsterdam the same week we were there. I hope my friends didn't scare you too much. I talk about you sometimes, and they were just curious to finally meet you. I think Zafrina likes you. Laura is in love with you, but she's also in love with a few other people including the boy who picked up her pencil when it rolled under his chair during tutorial. He favours turtlenecks. In your case, it was probably that suit you were wearing that did her in. Try not take it too personally.

I'm writing to pre-empt any apologies you may have for what happened yesterday.

Thursday was perfect. I loved seeing those paintings with you. Museums always make me think of you. I'd wonder, _What would Edward think of this painting?_ Would he laugh and say it's pretentious nonsense? Or would he stand back and let its beauty wash over him in silence, because no words are necessary? I finally had my answer.

Dinner in that little restaurant was wonderful. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the walk by the canal. We are young, we were in a romantic city. It happens. I don't know who kissed whom first and I don't care. I don't regret the kiss and I don't regret what happened after that.

Let me remember it this way. No apologies, no excuses.

Bella


	16. Chapter 16

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

* * *

><p><strong>September 18, 2008, Amsterdam, Netherlands<strong>

They were chatting like old friends, which she supposed they were.

Old friends. _Former lovers_.

They walked side by side along the canal, their only contact his briefly-placed hand on her back as they ducked yet another reckless cyclist along the narrow street.

The last evening rays had finally broken through the gloom of the autumn day, setting the little canal and its surroundings aflame.

After dinner, they drifted quite naturally towards the leafy canal with its cosy, neat rows of houses on either side painted in muted browns and reds. The generous windows, delineated in stark white, with their curtains drawn back, revealed tantalising glimpses of the spaces within to passer-bys. Like many tourists, Edward and Bella frequently found their eyes drawn to the beautifully furnished interiors of the rooms on the lower levels.

Bella felt the cool weight of the little compass against her chest. She touched it over her dress like a talisman, for reassurance, for luck.

She had swapped its original chain with a longer one so it would stay hidden under her neckline. She didn't want to invite his comments. One thoughtless word from him would obliterate the little stories and fantasies she had made up in her head about his gift and what it meant for their...friendship. She imagined the tiny compass needle, hidden close to her heart, fluttering with her every turn.

"So, you'll go back to school next week?"

Bella felt like a child at the mention of "school". Here he was, in his beautifully-cut suit, a full adult negotiating business deals and whatnot while she had to go back to class and write her little essays on postmodern poetry.

"Yes. This trip was meant to be our last hurrah before we start third year."

"Will you be doing your Masters after that?"

"Oh I hope so. Professor Caius—one of my tutors—thinks I should do a Ph.D."

She searched his features for a reaction but he was already distracted by the window of a simple but elegant study. The room was decorated with classic cream walls and white built-in shelves laden with books. A baby grand piano stood near the window. Black frames with monochromatic prints on the walls added to the air of austere masculinity. The lone incongruous element however, was a gilt-framed watercolour portrait of a beautiful woman.

They moved to the bridge for a better view into the room.

"I wonder who lives here." Bella could not help being nosy and craning her neck as she leaned as far out of the bridge as the railing would allow.

"His name is...Niels." Edward's smile widened as some of his old mischief crept into his eyes. "He is a...dentist. Yes, a dentist with a poetic soul."

Bella giggled.

"Oh hush, child. As I was saying, Niels is a dentist with poetry in his soul. He spends his days fighting plaque, but at night, he replenishes his spirit with books and music."

"And that portrait of the beautiful woman?"

"Ah, you see, Niels is 45 and has never been in love. He went to the flea market one Sunday, saw this painting and thought, 'This is what the love of my life should look like.' So he hangs the portrait across from his piano and serenades the love that will never be every night."

"Little does he know," Bella pointed to the apartment directly across the canal with a large vase of flowers on its window sill, "that _Ingrid_ over here, is just as lonely. She sees Niels sometimes from her window. She likes the passionate way he plays his piano. She wonders what books he reads. She wants him to look in her direction but he only has eyes for his painting."

"How tragic. We should introduce them." They grinned at each other, joined in their conspiratorial nonsense.

Just then, a man walked into the study and sat at the piano.

He did indeed look like a dentist.

Edward and Bella burst into peals of laughter. She doubled over, hugging her side. After a while, she realised that she was the only one still laughing. She followed his steady gaze down to the front of her dress, where the compass, which had fallen out of its hiding place, now dangled.

He stepped closer and gently scooped it into his palm. The diminutive instrument looked even smaller in his hand.

She raised her eyes to his slowly, knowing all the while that her face betrayed everything.

He stared at her for a long time.

"_Bella_."

One word was all it took. Her fingers crushed the lapels of his suit while his mouth crushed hers. The compass was pressed between them, its needle trembling wildly.

* * *

><p>AN:

Thanks for reading and reviewing this little story!

For people who are wondering, I'm still working on the next chapter of "A River Between". Apologies for the delay! *Ducks back into writing cave*


	17. Chapter 17

Many thanks to **katmom** for beta'ing, and **horsesoldier** for her generous donation to the fundraiser that provided the beta service.

An earlier version of this story was written for F4LLS, now revised and extended. Major revisions were made post-beta, mistakes my own.

**A/N: This is really more of an outtake, but oh well. **

* * *

><p><strong>Amsterdam<strong>

_Outside the door of his hotel room, when he was fumbling with the key, he wanted to turn around and tell her it was a mistake, that a one-night stand would only complicate things. But then she pressed her face into the middle of his back, wrapped her little arms around his waist and just like that, he was done for. _

_The first time was hard and greedy. Filthy. No time to take off their clothes. Skirt around her waist, her knees over his arms, on the side table next to the door. _

_He tried to slow down, tried to be gentle, but the way she was gasping out his name, her hands on his buttocks, pulling him back in every time...God, the heat..he couldn't..._

_The table hammered the wall with his every stroke. He made the sound louder and louder until it seemed to fill the narrow entry way. _

_Afterwards, the fog of melancholy that seemed to swirl around her returned with a vengeance. He had felt it before. It seeped out of her postcards. He hated it. Tried to tease it out of her. Tried to charm it away. Finally, he told her she was beautiful. She responded with a sceptical frown. _

_Had he not told her before? He was a fucking idiot. _

_He pulled her in front of the full-length mirror. _

"_See what I see—you're beautiful," he said. She blushed, squirmed, tried to escape._

_He stood behind her in front of the mirror and held her fast. "No," he insisted. "See what I see." He tried to show her then, what the sight of her mouth did to him; brushed aside her hair to reveal the neck that used to drive him insane when he wasn't allowed to kiss it. Before he knew it, he was tugging at the belt of her hotel bathrobe, naming and worshipping every curve of her body with his hands and mouth while she looked on._

_He saw some of the light come back into her eyes. He watched as she seemed to bloom into herself, as she grew bolder, wanton even. _

_He let her wrestle him down onto the thick carpet. Smiled when her soft hands pinned his wrists down to the floor. Heard himself groan when she brushed her taut nipples against his chest. _

_But it was only when he felt the shock of hot flesh clamping down around his cock that he understood who was in charge. And he had surrendered then. Allowed himself to be taken while she dug her little nails into his skin. The noise he made happened between a moan and a sigh. _

_He wouldn't think about the future. _

_He wouldn't think about the Ph.D. she wanted to do, about all the things that would take her further away from him. _

_He wouldn't think about the other men she might have kissed while they were apart. The men she might have fucked, the way she was fucking him now. _

_Instead, he allowed his mind to go blank. His heavy eyes followed the compass pendant as it swung back and forth in a hypnotic arc, only fluttering shut when his body emptied itself into her. _


End file.
